identity theft – Life In A Word

Ambassador Aspirations

Wedding anniversaries call for a celebration in one form or another. My wife and I default to dinner out and exchanging store-bought cards. This year however, we threw caution to the wind and splurged on three days at the beach, at one of those resorts where they put a price tag on every little thing. It was meant to be the proverbial toast to our almost forty years of marital bliss. But right out of the gate I had to wonder if dinner and a card would’ve been the smarter choice.

Ocean-front room… has a nice ring to it, right? Somehow I shooed the practical angel off one shoulder in favor of the carefree one on the other and just booked it. I figured the extra cost would be justified by endless views of the horizon, easy walks on the beach, and ocean waves to lull us to sleep. At least that’s what I had in mind as I approached the front desk.

No sooner did I present my driver’s license and credit card when “Paula” (per the name tag) said, “Can I hang onto your cards a sec, Mr. Wilson? I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer she disappeared behind a closed door. Minutes passed. Then tens of minutes. The growing line of check-in guests behind me was stressful, but more to the point what the heck was taking Paula so long? Was I about to be arrested and dragged away in cuffs? Was my credit card getting shredded to little bits? Was Paula really a front desk employee or someone who was already out the back door with visions of identity theft?

My fears were interrupted when the closed door opened and out strolled a more important-looking person – “Kevin” from Guest Services. Kevin asked if I could “step aside for a personal conversation”. So we moved beyond earshot of the other guests and an awkward exchange began.

“So… Mr. Wilson… uh… I don’t how to tell you this so guess I just tell you. We don’t have any more ocean-front rooms. I’m very sorry. We’ve given you and your wife an ocean-view room instead.”

Let’s clarify before we go any further. Ocean-front and ocean-view (at least at this place) are very different offerings. “Front” is smack-dab on the dunes of the sand of the beach of the ocean. Leave the sliding door open and you breathe in salt air and get sand in your hair. “View” is the room high up at the very back of the resort, with the hotel bars and restaurants in the foreground and the ocean a distant third.

I hesitated ever so briefly before responding to Kevin from Guest Services. The angel on one shoulder was lacing up boxing gloves while the other was donning a Japanese kimono and parasol for a bow of gentle acceptance. Neither approach seemed quite right so I split the difference.

“Why don’t you have an ocean-front room, Kevin? I have the confirmation email right here, showing I made the reservation weeks ago.”

“I know, Mr. Wilson, I know. We simply don’t have the room, not tonight nor any other night you’re here. How can I make things better?”

“How can I make things better?” Seriously?

“You can give me an ocean-front room, Kevin, just like I booked online. That would make things better.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson, that’s just not possible. The best we can do is an ocean view. Listen, why don’t you and your wife get settled in and I’ll give you a call later?”

So settle in we did, somewhat begrudgingly. And I’ll be the first to admit the ocean-view rooms at this place were actually pretty nice. Our windows were centered so we had a panorama of the pools and restaurants, with the waves and horizon just beyond. Live music floated up from the bar. It was a pleasing scene from our little balcony. Now if only we had the king bed we reserved inside of the room instead of two queens.

Ring-ring (er, buzz-buzz)

“Mr. Wilson? It’s Kevin from Guest Services again. I’m checking in to see how you like your room. Getting settled? Everything okay so far?”

“Well, yes Kevin, it’s a nice enough room, only it has an extra bed. We reserved a king and I’m looking at two queens.”

“Two queens? Hoo-boy that’s not good. Can’t say how that happened. How can I make things better?”

Ignoring his favorite phrase and choosing not to state the obvious, I said, “Look Kevin, we’ll manage with the two queens; don’t worry about it. But here’s what I want to know. How does a hotel not have the ocean-front room I reserved and was guaranteed weeks ago?”

Pause.

“Well, uh, Mr. Wilson, I’m not supposed to share this information but I can tell you one of our other guests extended their stay, so they’ve taken the room that was supposed to be yours.”

Extended their stay? Taken my room? Must be someone important, like South Carolina’s governor or one of those surgeons at the “Advanced Echocardiography” session in the hotel conference room.

“Yes Mr. Wilson, an extended stay. In fact, the person who made that request is an ambassador.”

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. I knew it! A political heavyweight. One of those who has the power to simply decree and it shall be done.

“An ambassador, huh? Okay, well that’s something. From what country?”

“Marriott.”

“Excuse me? Marriott?”

“Yes, Marriott rewards. An Ambassador is the highest level of our rewards program.”

My wife looked it up. Sure enough, you’re an “Ambassador” if you stay in a Marriott enough nights in a year. Like, one hundred enough nights. Me, I stay in a Marriott three nights in a year. I wonder what the program calls me, “Peon”? Again my thoughts were interrupted.

“Look Mr. Wilson, I’ve got to get going now, but we’ve added a nice discount to your room rate. I hope it makes up for the inconvenience. How can I make things better?”

Man, this guy really wanted to make things better, so I considered my options. Room service? Spa treatment? Round of golf? Hotel gift shop splurge? Instead I simply said, “Sure Kevin, make me an Ambassador”.

He laughed. Then he stopped laughing. Needless to say, I didn’t get the promotion.

Setting Little Booklets Free

In Breaking Away, the charming little movie about bicycling and broken dreams, there’s a scene where Barbara Barrie talks with her son about her passport. She’ll never really use it, she says, but she carries her passport all the time so she can present it proudly if ever asked. With newfound hindsight, I should’ve held onto my wife’s passport as tightly as Barbara Barrie held on to hers.

If you have a passport, you know the drill. Every ten years you have to renew the little book. The process is cumbersome, even online, because the authorities ask for almost as much information as they did the first time around. Everything goes into the (re)application except a copy of your birth certificate. Three pages of personal information later, you print, date, and sign, attach an unflattering black-and-white selfie (no smiling!) and mail it in together with your expiring passport.

So far so good with the hindsight. But as soon as I went to the post office last October I made a big boo-boo; the so-called fatal error. The desk clerk convinced me to send the application through regular mail. “Save your pennies”, I remember him saying. “After all, you’re sending through one government entity to another government entity. What could possibly go wrong?” So I saved my pennies… and that’s the last I ever saw of my wife’s passport.

Did this machine eat my wife’s passport?

Okay, maybe not ever. Perhaps the little booklet eventually finds its way home after completing whatever misguided tour it’s been taking. Or maybe, as our travel agent was quick to suggest, it was mangled and shredded by the sorting machine of an automated postal facility. Or maybe #3 – the one that has me staring at the ceiling into the wee hours of the night – it’s the latest identity of the head of an international drug cartel.

Laugh or feign horror at my expense, but you can’t blame me for wandering to the worst case scenario these days. The outside of the mailing envelope said “National Passport Processing Center” while the inside contained what obviously feels like a passport. Easy pickings, especially for an enterprising minimum-wage postal worker. My recurring thought: why didn’t I fork over the fifteen bucks for a secure, insured, overnight envelope? Because I’m cheap, that’s why. Ah hindsight, thee be a cruel character.

Not that you’ll ever need it (because you’re learning from me) but there’s an easy process to report a “lost or stolen” passport. You provide as much information as you can and if you’re lucky the authorities identify and “decommission” the missing booklet, reducing it to mere paper and plastic in the hands of another. But that still left my wife with no passport, which meant filing a new (not “re”) application. Dig out the birth certificate, take another photo, make an in-person appointment with the local post office, and pay another application fee. Mercifully, I watched that application get sealed into one of those secure/insured mailers before disappearing down the conveyor belt.

My first inkling of identity theft hit when our credit card company informed us of a $500 charge from a merchant in Germany, a company I didn’t recognize (and couldn’t begin to pronounce). My second inkling hit when our travel agent tried to make charges for the trip we needed the passports for, and our other credit card was rejected. One inkling makes you pause, but two inklings? That pushes the big ol’ panic button. But the god of credit cards must’ve been looking down on me favorably because the first charge was cancelled while the second charge was only denied because our travel agent had an old card on file. In other words – to my knowledge – we’re talking random events instead of identity theft.

There’s a happy ending to this story. (Actually, it’s more like an intermission since the authorities sent me a letter saying my wife’s passport is still lost or stolen until it’s not.) We have new passports now, which means no renewal process for another ten years. Our compromised credit card was cancelled and replaced. And we froze our credit in case a “new wife” out there tries to open accounts. I’m not convinced that’ll ever happen but I’m breathing easier as the months pass by. And rest assured, I’m keeping our little booklets secure so nobody can, you know, “break away” with them.

Credit Guards (or AT&T pt. 2)

When my “favorite” service provider AT&T (tongue-clearly-in-cheek) challenged my creditworthiness last month amidst an adventurous request for internet service, I was forced to bow down before the Big Three. No, not Ford, Chrysler, Dodge – I don’t drive any of ’em. And not CBS, NBC, ABC either – I can now stream their programming (since I finally have internet). Rather, today’s big three are Equifax, Experian, TransUnion – those behind-the-curtains guards who man the credit rating tollbooths as sternly as passport checkers from former Eastern Bloc countries.

Credit guard companies are more difficult to deal with than credit card companies. The moment I entered college, offers for credit came pouring into my mailbox. I could qualify for ridiculous amounts on little plastic cards, even though I was a penniless freshman with little reportable income. But they want you hooked on credit at an early age so you’ll pay back a lifetime of fees in interest. Yet now, with decades of credit history under my belt (all of it positive, I say with muted pride), dealing with the credit guards is infinitely more challenging. It’s like walking up to Fort Knox and asking for a bar of gold.

If you don’t check (or even know) your credit score, you may not be familiar with the Big Three. They’re like triplets hired to do the same job: “consumer credit reporting agencies… collecting and aggregating information… on consumers and businesses worldwide”. Equifax tracks 800 million consumers. Experian tracks a billion. In other words, the next time you use your credit card, you can bet the Guards will be watching.

The Guards help themselves to your transaction, blend it with the others you’ve racked up recently, look at how well you manage your total credit and debt, and come up with a score. If you and your wallet behave, you get a number in the neighborhood of 700; if not, you’re closer to 500 (sounds like a college entrance exam, no?) 1.2% of Americans maintain an absolutely perfect credit score, though darned if I know how they do it. Maybe they pay for everything in cash.

Consumer credit reporting agencies are b-o-r-i-n-g (I’m surprised you’ve made it this far) so I’m not fired up to write about them today. Instead, let me tell you a story – humor at my expense, really – where the Guards were peripherally involved… and I was fired up.

When I was ~~battling~~ working with AT&T on my request for internet last month, the customer service rep stole took a full hour of my valuable time to ~~botch~~ set up the account, even though I already had another account with AT&T for wireless service. He asked a million questions (including the oft-scripted “how’s the weather where you are today?”). A marathon later – because I could’ve run one by this point – he said it was time to check my credit. Here’s where I should’ve thought to hang up because AT&T owns decades of credit history on me (thanks to the Guards). If AT&T couldn’t tap into my score already then maybe I shouldn’t be doing business with them. But I really wanted internet so I ~~surrendered~~ cooperated like a good little lamb, supplying my name, rank, and social security number. And this is where everything went horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry sir, but your credit is blocked.”

Blocked? What the *$%^#! HECK does that mean? When I asked him to please explain, my smooth operator countered by saying, “Let me run the check again. Repeat <your> social security number”… which I did, only to hear the word “blocked” again. When the third time wasn’t the charm he made a rather ~~stupid~~ bold announcement:

“I’m sorry sir, but you must have an invalid social security number.”

Invalid social? So you’re saying the nine-digit number I memorized when I was like, oh, an infant; the one I’ve spoken or written millions of times in my life, the one I’ve been trying to protect from identity thieves since I was born, is “invalid”? What kind of ~~incompetent fool~~ professional was I dealing with here?

Again I should’ve ~~slammed the phone down~~ hung up, but silly me, I surrendered more minutes of time to understand my “two options for service when I have blocked credit”. One, I could set up the account in my wife’s name. Involve an innocent bystander in this ~~circus~~ request and risk divorce? No way. Two, I could pay AT&T a $250 retainer fee to offset my newfound credit liability. Okay, NOW I’m insulted. When I declined both options, my ~~customer service imposter~~ temporary friend apologized, bid me good day, and hung up without another word. Seriously, he hung up on me (without so much as a sales pitch for DirecTV). I suppose you could call it a fitting conclusion to a totally worthless call.

My story does have a happy ending. Several days later I mustered the courage to call (A)nguish, (T)orment, & (T)orture again. Maybe the more you call them the better the service because the next rep let me know my credit was frozen (not “blocked”). Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! Frozen credit, for those of you in the not-know, is initiated by the consumer (me). A credit freeze is put in place to counter identity theft. I totally forgot I’d done that, like, last century, but thanks to a smidge of online access (the Guards are more hospitable these days) I was able to drop the freeze with just a few keystrokes. Bingo. Credit check passed. Internet service permitted.

The inspiration for this post was a recent headline about Equifax. The Guard issued millions of incorrect credit scores last spring, which meant consumers were either denied loans when they shouldn’t have been or charged higher-than-deserved interest rates. One ambitious soul is leading a class action lawsuit to reclaim the interest she never should’ve have paid. As for me, I choose not to deal with the Guards any more than I have to. After all, I get enough credit check grief from AT&T.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Steal a Card, Any Card

Imagine a carefree Saturday at the mall. You’re shopping with friends for something you really need, or maybe it’s just a little retail therapy. Whatever the reason, the shopping and the purchases make for an enjoyable afternoon. In fact, you’re so satisfied you decide to add on dinner afterwards at a nearby restaurant. All in all a great day, until you wake up the next morning and discover a fraudulent purchase on your credit card. Even more disturbing, you realize the waiter at the restaurant was the odds-on criminal.

My mall story is not hypothetical but actual. My family and I went shopping last weekend, and within twenty-four hours of our purchases we were victims of credit card fraud. What is most aggravating to me is the basic chain of events that points to the nefarious waiter at the restaurant where we dined. Why him? Out of a dozen purchases that day, the restaurant was the only location where the credit card transaction took place out of my sight. Instead of the several point-of-sale mall transactions, the restaurant – as is typical – carried my card away alongside the bill, to be processed somewhere out of sight. Also, the fraudulent purchase the following day was made at the department store adjacent to the restaurant. It’s an easy-as-pie theory on what went down.

My experience begs the question: why do credit card companies include all of the critical information right on the card? Write down (or phone-photo) the name of the cardholder, the sixteen-digit card number, the expiration date of the card, and the three-digit “Card Verification Value” (CVV), and you’re all set to assume the purchasing identity of someone else.

Google Authenticator, which sends a verification code to your phone that is required for login to certain apps, creates a secondary level of security that would significantly decrease credit card fraud. At the least, cardholders should be given a piece of data separate from what is printed on the card, so only they have every last piece of the purchasing puzzle.

Fortunately, credit card fraud is an inconvenience instead of an unexpected financial setback. My bank simply reimburses the amount in dispute, cancels the card, and issues me a new one. I can live with that (unless I owned the credit card company). What I can’t live with is the thieves who work the system. Thus did I send a note to the restaurant manager. I did not directly accuse the waiter as I really have no proof. But I did provide enough detail that perhaps the manager will track the activities of his employees a little closer. My hope is that he discovers the criminal among his otherwise trustworthy staff.